


In Which an Angel Plays Cupid

by Sleepless_Paraluman



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Matchmaking, Pre-Canon, or at least pre-eleven years leading to nahpocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Paraluman/pseuds/Sleepless_Paraluman
Summary: After a little chat with Freddie Mercury, Crowley worries that the frontman's lack of luck in the love department is taking quite a toll on his mental state. He lets Aziraphale know this through a little chat on their own. Years later, Aziraphale notices Freddie had a certain atmosphere of love when he meets the angel's new acquaintance, Jim. When he senses a similar feeling developing at a snail's pace, yet surely coming from Jim during the pair's second meeting, Aziraphale decides to give them a bit of a nudge.(Whether or not he did so mainly to soothe Crowley's nerves is a different matter of its own.)





	1. Spread Your Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's been a while since I last wrote something so this could be quite rusty. This, of course, isn't meant to be taken too seriously. That being said, hope you get something out of this.

Don’t you just hate it when your cheeky little bastard of a friend writes a song about you and the guy you’ve been pining after for six thousand years? What about when you took the guy out for dinner once (a brief meeting regarding the arrangement) and your sentient automobile has blasted the song every single time you take it out for a ride ever since?

Oh, you’ve never experienced that? Huh. Can’t blame you, not all of us can be the demon, Crowley. Either way, he’d be more than glad to share his suffering (it’s his job after all) so on behalf of Crowley, the narrator subjects you to a scene of him nitpicking a song.

_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things we can do the tango just for two_

“Tango huh. Well, that would be hard to try. Angels don’t dance. Bet he only knows the gavotte,” he mutters.

_Ooh love  
Ooh lover boy_

~~Somehow he can’t help but bop his head along to the beat.~~

 _Whatcha doing tonight?_  
_Hey boy_  
_Set_ _my alarm_  
_Turn on my charm_  
_That’s because I’m a good old fashioned lover boy~_

Crowley sighs.

“It’s a good song. Would’ve been better if it wasn’t about...yeah”

_Ooh can you feel my love heat_

“He should be able to. He seems to sense love in just about everything. Wonder how he hasn’t sensed me yet.”

_Say the word your wish is my command_

“That’s...well, that’s a bit too accurate ain’t it?”

The Bentley hums in agreement. To this, Crowley lets out a groan of frustration.

“You blasted thing. Can’t you play anything else?”

The windscreen wipers swish back and forth as if to say no. He rolls his eyes.

“Hah. Then come on, turn around. Change of plans.”

The engine whines in protest. Crowley subconsciously tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t give me that language! You brought this upon yourself.”

The car doesn’t reply, instead, it proceeds to turn around on its own accord. Crowley sits back, letting out a hum of approval.

“Thought so. Now, let’s go. There’s a rockstar that needs visiting.”

~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~

The door opens before he could even knock.

“Ah Crowley, darling! How’s thwarting heaven’s plans for us lowly mortals going so far?” Freddie Mercury asks, standing at the doorway in all his charismatic glory.

“Eh, it’s being done. As usual,” he shrugs, accepting a hug.

“And how is that lovely car of yours?”

The Bentley honked and flashed its headlights. Freddie chuckles and waves at it as Crowley rolls his eyes.

“It’s a cheeky little thing. Takes after you.”

Freddie snickers in agreement.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Well, Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy-now, don’t give me that look! I know who you wrote it about.”

A glint of amusement flashes within Freddie’s eyes as he lets Crowley in and gestures to follow him to the door that led to Roger Taylor’s garden.

“Ah yes, that one. One can’t deny you’re a good inspiration for songs. You and that angel of yours.”

Before a flustered Crowley could mutter “he isn’t mine,” Freddie opens the door, letting a gust of chilly winter wind fly into the house and, by extension, Crowley’s face.

“Speaking of songs, we’re shooting for a little something Deaky made called Spread Your Wings.”

Now, there are times when we make decisions temporarily detrimental to our wellbeing for the sake of a permanent or long-lasting reward. Decisions such as pulling off an all-nighter so you can graduate. Or walking on consecrated ground to save a certain angel’s ~~pert~~ arse. You get the gist.

That being said, Crowley, for the life of him, could not fathom how someone came up with the brilliant idea of shooting two music videos in a frozen (or- since this is Queen- shall I say, Snow Cold Crazy) garden. Judging by how Roger and John Deacon shivered from the seat behind the drums and the piano bench respectively, they seemed to agree with the demon.

Crowley snaps his fingers and just like that, all four band members find themselves wearing comfy mittens that have, quite literally, been knit in half a second out of thin air. Brian May, the first to snap out of the shock, looks up and smiles like a kid who’s just been given an ice cream cone.

“Hello, Crowley!”

To this, he adjusts his sunglasses and waves back. Queen responds in a messy chorus of “hi’s,” “thank you’s,” and two “how kind’s,” each one from Freddie and Brian, one teasing, the other appreciative. (I’m sure you can infer who’s who.)

“Thank you?! Me? Kind?!”

He sighs, raising his arms in a dramatic gesture of “come on, now!”

“I am horror! I’m dread and discomfort personified! What possibly gives you the idea that I am kind?!”

“Mittens?” Roger supplies, mouth twisting upward ever so slightly to form a tiny smirk.

“Ah, mittens! Yes, Rogah,” says Crowley, with emphasis on the “ah” sound.

“What the heaven is so good about them?”

“We’d think your job description implies that the logical thing to do is leave us be and let us freeze, yet you chose to help us keep warm instead,” Brian points out.

“That’s not very demonic of you, is it?,” Deaky points out with a genuine smile contrasting his mischievous eyes.

“Logical? Not very demonic?! Deaky, Brian, you of all people should now mittens are a very dreadful hindrance to your performance. Can’t strum and pluck at those strings with mittens on, can ya?”

Deaky good-naturedly shakes his head. Brian raises his arms in mock surrender.

“Yes, of course, we can’t!” he says.

“We can, however, just take them off before we play, set them aside, then put them back on during breaks and-you get what I mean.”

“Who says I do?” Crowley groans.

Freddie laughs, trudges through the snow, and rests an elbow on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Darling, just admit it. That was quite sweet of you. That, and you suck at your job. Terribly so.”

Crowley ignores the uncontainable chuckles from the rest of the band and plops on a nearby bench, automatically slouching into it.

“Blah whatever, shouldn’t you start recording?”

As the rest of the band prepares their instruments, Freddie pulls out a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and hands it to Crowley. The demon unfolds it to find Deaky’s lyrics rewritten in Freddie’s handwriting which was somehow both messy and refined.

"What do you think?”

Crowley’s holds up a finger as he scans the page.

“ _His boss said to him...boy, you better begin to get those crazy notions right out of your head...spread your wings and fly away...pull yourself together ‘cause you know you should be better..._ ”

Cheeks flushed, he hands it to Freddie, who shakes his head and pushes it back towards him. He takes it, contemplating his thoughts.

“It’s good. Looks like something I’d even play on repeat. Obviously, I didn’t inspire Deaky for this one, but...”

“But?” Freddie tilts his head ever so slightly. Crowley sighs.

“It still sounds a bit like him.”

“A bit like who?”

He allows himself to chuckle.

“Angel.”

“...oh.”

Freddie looks at Crowley fondly with a hint of what seems to be exasperation. He walks to the piano and yells over his shoulder:

“Let’s have a chat later!”

Which is actually a simplified version of “Let’s talk about angels that won’t date you and angels you never seem to find. Oh, and let there be liquor.”

That being said, Crowley was on earth long enough to understand the difference between what one says and what one truly meant. Good for him; he knows what to expect for the evening. Thus, he prepares.


	2. Friends Will Be Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny dash of angst ahead.

**In Which an Angel Plays Cupid**

**Chapter 2: Friends Will Be Friends**

Due to what the previous chapter has stated, you, dear reader, probably have an idea of what exactly they would talk about, or at least, what would be said on Crowley’s end. After all...

“It was around 1967, I think. We had this pretty much century and a half old...squabble...yes. A squabble over holy water and he finally decided to give it to me in an oddly colored thermos.”

The year is 1978. A decade and a year from an immortal’s perspective would likely be a month give or take, therefore fresh in one’s memory.

“I’m sure whatever it is holy water warrants from a demon and an angel, it’s definitely a lot more than a squabble.”

Crowley dismisses the statement with a wave of his hand, a wave one would use when trying to get rid of a fly. I suppose that’s a good move. After all, he’d loathe the prospect of flies- or anything that has to do with them- interfering with such a moment.

“I told him I can take him wherever he wanted.”

Freddie snorts and grins knowingly at Crowley- who makes an indiscernible noise as he drags his palm across his face to stop and rest under his chin-from behind the glass.

“And you say you’ve been subtle? If that isn’t the most obvious double meaning I’ve-“

He’s interrupted by a sound that’s half-bark, half-laugh.

“You think that has a blatant double meaning!”

Freddie raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. Crowley’s expression turns sheepish and he uses his other arm to scratch the back of his head.

“Well actually, yes it does but see, my point here is that his reply also had a double meaning. One that’s a lot less subtle.”

“What is it now?”

Freddie can’t help but be concerned when his friend slouches and takes a soft yet sharp intake of breath, eyebrows creasing to match his frown.

“You...you go too fast for me, Crowley.”

At this, he winces in understanding.

“Oh.”

Crowley shakes his head, not quite keen on reliving it all.

“Well, that’s enough about angel. Tell me about-“

“He’s just reluctant,” Freddie interrupts.

To this, his companion grits his teeth.

To this, the demon clenches his fists.

To this, Crowley jumps to his feet abruptly, sending his chair crashing to the floor, and slams his hands on the table.

“I know he’s reluctant, Mercury! Reluctant and perhaps quite terrified even. I’ve known him for six thousand years!”

Freddie, attempting to act unfazed, clears his throat; his eyes shut tight from shock.

“Right yes...but you can’t deny he cares.”

A beat passes.

Followed by a second one.

And then a third.

Crowley reaches from behind, pulls his chair up, and slumps back into it. For a moment or two, he stares into the distance, silent and still as can be.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Freddie opens his eyes. He nods in understanding. It wasn’t uncommon for him to see outbursts-what with being in a band and all- and this, by far is probably the most justifiable one he’s witnessed.

“We all have our moments, darling.”

“Right. And he does care. We’re good friends, I would say...”

Freddie pours his friend some wine. Crowley takes it with a shaky hand, smiling weakly.

“But it’s not enough, Freddie. It’s...”

“What is it?”

Crowley sighs and though Freddie couldn’t see them from behind the sunglasses, he knows a pair of gloomy serpent eyes are staring into his own.

“I try to be content with what we have. Meeting every few centuries, sometimes years if we’re lucky. I just met up with him to discuss our arrangement, actually. A week or so ago. That’s when the car started blasting that lover boy song of yours.”

He chuckles though it doesn’t come out as bright as he hoped it would be. In fact, it didn’t seem bright at all.

“But it’s not enough...it never will be.”

Once again, a beat passes.

Then another.

Physically seated tensely in his chair, Freddie runs around in his mind searching for the right words. He tries as hard as he can but well...

What do you tell someone kept away from the love of his life by cruel circumstance? And if that’s not hard enough to answer, then what if the same person has the rest of eternity to deal with this misfortune? What do you tell them then?

“It’s fine if you don’t know what to say. I just needed to do it, you know? To let it out so nothing stays bottled inside.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

Freddie sighs as if to say “I don’t believe so.” Crowley shakes his head as if to say “don’t worry about it.”

“Perhaps...well, on the bright side, at least you got to know him. Get to be his friend for literally forever and all that.”

Crowley lets out a “hm,” downing his glass in one gulp.

“I suppose I am lucky I even found him at all. My angel, both literally and metaphorically in the way you humans use the word,” he mutters.

His face was flushed; though if it was because of the conversation or the alcohol, one would not know. Normally, Freddie would take this opportunity to tease Crowley about his faint smile. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the tabletop as if he hadn’t noticed his friend’s sudden state of being smitten.

He really hadn’t.

“Yes, some have to watch everyone else find angels while they’re left all alone...waiting...”

Freddie glances over to the side, biting his lip. Neither of them had meant for this little chat to take this road. He sips his wine and sighs.

“Some never find them at all.”

Silence engulfs the room.

Freddie picks up his glass and swishes the wine around tries to pass the statement off as casual. Crowley could only regard him in worry.

As an angel can sense love, a demon can sense when someone feels particularly low. After all, temptation is a lot easier when the tempted happens to be in this state. Crowley wasn’t too keen on all that; demon or not, something felt off about manipulation when down and vulnerable so he usually kept this ability to a minimum.

That being said, he could sense it even without trying. If it took on a physical form, it would be a dusty gust of wind rushing to meet him, stinging his eyes had he not been wearing glasses. It was everywhere, the room growing overwhelmingly clammy to the point that Crowley would’ve been suffocating had he needed to breathe.

“Freddie, are you sure alright?”

Freddie laughs and raises his glass.

“I’m sorry, darling that was quite silly of me! Over the top, dramatic, theatrical. But then again, that’s who I am. To the fans, that is.”

Theatrical indeed. Quite the great pretender, isn’t he?

He gets up before Crowley could even blink and heads to the kitchen. He says something along the lines of getting more alcohol but Crowley was stuck in a certain headspace. Whatever it was Freddie had said, Crowley was too stunned to make sense or even register for it was at that moment he felt the humidity in his surroundings seemingly cling to Freddie and follow him out of the room.

He takes off his fogged up glasses and contemplates what to do as he cleans them. Should he confront his friend? Better not. It would probably make things worse and he surely didn’t want to talk about it. But what else could he do? He can’t just leave Freddie behind like this!

It was at that moment he remembered those words: all alone, waiting. Crowley was aware the life of a rockstar isn’t as satisfying as one might presume. But surely, Freddie wasn’t that forlorn.

Was he?

He puts his glasses back on just in time for Freddie to come back, a bottle of whiskey in hand. It was at that moment he realized Freddie needed visiting a lot more than he thought.


	3. A Kind of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans tend to believe in destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter is relatively irrelevant plotwise and I'm terribly sorry for that but it does explain a key concept in the story. Besides, we get a tiny bit of gay here so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh, and yes, there are three paragraphs dedicated to a subtle reference you’ll only understand if you live in a certain country. Sorry about that too.

Last night, a teenage girl was kicked out of her home. She took shelter for a night in a certain bookshop. Today, she sits at a table eating crepes for breakfast with the bookshop’s owner who insists that her friend who had just arrived to pick her up must sit and join them.

“Thank you, Mr. Fell but I’m still full. And thank you for letting Hailey stay here.”

“Oh that’s nothing, everyone deserves a roof above their head,” Aziraphale beams.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat Miss...?”

“Ella. Don’t worry, sir. I’m alright.”

She turns to Hailey who happily munches on her food and wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“This one over here might want my share.”

Hailey puts her fork down and glares at her friend. She tries to protest with her mouth still full and Ella’s fond laughter echoes in the shop. Aziraphale smiles.

“You can have as much as you like.”

At this, Hailey’s eyes light up.

She swallows her food and proceeds to thank the bookkeeper profusely. From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches Ella looking at her friend with the happiest gaze in the world and that’s when he felt the spark.

People experience love in different ways, so their auras hit angels differently. This spark was something the principality had felt over and over and over again; it isn't "love" per se but it is something close to it. A gut feeling.

It happened many instances, more than he can count in the time he served his mission on earth. Sometimes whoever it came from ends up living happily with the person they generated the spark for. Sometimes they don’t and it all ends in misery. Sometimes, they’re mistaken and end up finding happiness in a different person’s arms or even living on their own. Either way, it had a common factor.

The first time he felt it he was among other angels, watching Adam lay his eyes on Eve for the first time. He’d chalked it up to witnessing a crucial event in humanity’s history but time after time, the same tiny prick struck him at instances not so momentous.

One time, he felt it during a downpour sometime around the 1600s. A young peasant girl had stumbled upon his temporary lodgings and he offered her shelter from the storm. It hit when she explained that her beloved in the next village was to be married to a wealthy lady of his standing in a week and that she had come to try and put a stop to it.

They did end up running away and settling down in a cottage by the river. Still, she showed up with a toddler at Aziraphale’s door a decade later, explaining that he had cheated on her with a younger woman. Such is life.

Another time, he’d felt it was in the 1800s somewhere on an island in the east. He had befriended a mischievous seminarian with a knack for guitar. The spark hit the moment the lad had stopped talking mid-sentence to gaze at something behind Aziraphale. A lovely group of maidens had entered the church but upon closer inspection, one would see that the young man’s eyes were only fixed on one lady. She was pretty, yes, but so were her companions- one even outshining the rest with her beauty- thus there was nothing quite remarkable about her.

Aziraphale was ordered to monitor a different town the week after that. A month after his move, he received a letter from the seminarian in the mail. Well, ex-seminarian. He couldn’t go on with the priesthood because he didn’t agree with the classism and racism an 1800’s religious system promoted. A year later, they did fall in love but he wound up in a cell wrongly accused of assisting in rebellion and the angel never heard of her again. That isn’t the point though. What did the spark entail?

After receiving the letter, Aziraphale wrote back in curiosity, asking about the lady. His friend responded that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to court her but he had this feeling in his gut, one that said he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life living with her, caring for her, and well, loving her.

Suddenly, Aziraphale realizes why Hailey was disowned.

The bookshop door opens once more, the three look up to find none other than Crowley walking towards their table, parcel in hand.

“Hey Aziraphale, where’d you get these kids?”

Hailey sticks her arm out for a handshake.

“Good morning, sir. I’m Hailey. Mr. Fell let me stay in his shop overnight and Ella over here came to pick me up.”

Crowley shakes their hands and his gaze lands upon large bags at Hailey’s feet. He looks up at Ella’s arm still wrapped protectively and glances at Aziraphale, eyebrow raised in question. The angel nods.

“So, how are you related to each other?”

Ella goes tense. If Aziraphale had a human heart, it would’ve been broken by the sight of fear flashing in Hailey’s eyes.

“We’re...best friends...yes.”

Crowley frowns.

“I see.”

It was only a few seconds but the tension felt as if it went on for hours. Aziraphale wanted to ease the girl’s’ discomfort but he didn’t quite know what to say. He decided he would get another crepe for Hailey and rose up, only to be stopped by the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“Well, if you two are best friends then so are we.”

He turned to Aziraphale, and though one could not see them through the dark shades, the angel could tell serpent eyes were looking at him pleadingly. He relaxes and smiles, moving to stand closer to Crowley.

“Isn’t that, right angel?”

He takes the demon’s hand, careful not to let his nervousness show. He relaxes as his friend intertwines their fingers.

“Yes, my dear.”

He looks back at Hailey and Ella to find them staring in a mix of shock, relief, joy, and belonging.

“We know it’s hard sometimes but you have each other and perseverance. Sometimes, that’s all you need.”

As Ella turns away, a tissue in hand and Hailey gets up to give them a hug, Aziraphale glances over at Crowley who happened to be gazing at him with a shy yet joyous grin. "Thank you, angel," he could practically hear him say.

It was at that moment the spark hit him once again.


End file.
